Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

Isn’t there a very real danger that in this light we could be mobbed by crows?”
    Ezylryb began to laugh and then said, “With all due respect, Otulissa, no one else is yoicks enough to be out on a day like this!”
    Soren couldn’t help but laugh. But how could he be laughing when he was scared to death? Then again, how could he have been bored in colliering chaw when he was also scared? If this was being all one could be, as Bubo had told him, he certainly had a lot of confusing feelings.
    And then, suddenly, with an enormous scream, the old Whiskered Screech Owl spread his wings and lifted into the ice-spun twilight.
    They flew straight out over the Sea of Hoolemere. The storm was so fierce and the torrents of sleeting rain so thick they could barely see the water, but they did hear the crashing waves. Otulissa was flying near Soren.
    “I have never heard of a ryb who used such poor judgment.This is so irresponsible. I am going to have to speak with Boron and Barran. I cannot believe that they would approve of this.”
    Soren, meanwhile, could not believe that Otulissa could fly through this mess and still keep talking. It took all of his concentration just to fly. The winds seemed to come from every direction. They were constantly buffeted by confused drafts. Martin, the little Saw-whet, was a tumbling blur ahead of him. He had been instructed, as the smallest, to begin flying in Ezylryb’s wake for better control.
    One minute the owls might be buoyed up several hundred feet and the next they might fly into a dead fall, a kind of hole in the wind, and drop. And, of course, there was the ice and rain. Constantly, Soren was having to use the transparent eyelid, the third eyelid that all owls have, to clear out the debris. Great Glaux, he hoped his third lid didn’t simply wear out under these conditions. No wonder Ezylryb squinted. A lifetime of flying into this stuff would be enough to shred any owl’s eyelid.
    “Oh, for Glaux’s sake,” Otulissa hissed.
    “What now?” Soren said, trying to anticipate the next dead fall, almost hoping for it, to get away from Otulissa.
    “He is speaking with seagulls!”
    “So?”
    “So? How can you say ‘so,’ Soren? I know you come from a very fine family. I can see that you have been well brought up. You must know that seagulls are the absolute worst kind of bird. They are, pardon the coarseness of my language, the scum of the avian world. Trashy, loud. You want nothing to do with them. And look, there he is talking—laughing with them.”
    “Maybe he’s getting weather information from them,” Soren said.
    “Oh, now that’s a thought,” Otulissa said and was quiet for several seconds, an amazing occurrence in and of itself. “I think I’ll fly up and ask him.”
    “Don’t bother him, Otulissa.”
    “No, you heard him say if we had any questions we should ask.” So off she flew.
    “Pardon me, Ezylryb. I am most curious to know why you were—how shall I put it—consorting with seagulls? I thought perhaps it was to gain weather information.”
    “Seagulls? Oh, no, darlin’. They are the dumbest birds on earth and the laziest.”
    “Well, then why would you even consort with them?”
    “I wasn’t consorting. I was telling dirty jokes.”
    “What?” Otulissa gasped.
    “Yes, they love wet poop jokes even though they are the wettest of all poopers. ‘Oh, tell us another one Ezyl,’ they always say! And, I must admit, I get a few from them. But the blasted birds are so dumb, half the time they can’t remember the punch lines. Very frustrating.”
    “Well, I never!”
    “The jokes were really funny, Otulissa,” Martin, the Northern Saw-whet, piped up.
    “Now, don’t go getting your feathers in a twist, darlin’. You just mind your own business. Get back into position. We’re getting near the gutter now. And this is when the fun begins.”
    “Hoooh-hah!” Poot let out an enormous, raucous hoot. “Here we go, mates. Climbing the baggywrinkles and then straight into the gutter. Follow us!” The baggywrinkles were the shredded air currents that lay between the scuppers and the gutter. A power thrust was required to get over them. Soren banked and followed the veteran owl, Poot. Martin was in between the two. The tiny owl would get a boost from Poot’s speed, as a vacuum would be created, through which he could be sucked up and over the baggywrinkles right into the gutter. Ruby was just ahead of him. She let escape a small joyous